


Not Quite What I was Expecting

by iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Emma's not actually in it just mentioned, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3095672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid/pseuds/iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Seven Hells.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>She's pregnant.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite What I was Expecting

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed some Henry and Hook bonding. Obviously this takes place well into the future.

Killian sits on the bench at the docks, squinting against the sunlight as he looks out over the sea, a deep frown set into his face.

He feels something like a knot at the pit of his stomach, and another, tighter one pressing at his Adam’s apple. He already feels ashamed for running off like he did—Hell, he felt ashamed immediately after leaving. But now that he _did_ leave, he can’t exactly turn around and head _back_ , can he? What could he possibly say?

The telephone in his pocket gives off a low buzz, but aside from a quick glance down at his lap, he sets his jaw and stubbornly stares out at the sea. He won’t look at it. He won’t. He got away from Henry and his grandmother so that he could be alone, so that he could sort out his thoughts.

It will be better if he figures all this out _before_ talking to them about it. It’s better to ignore the phone for now.

… He lasts about fourteen seconds before he gives a frustrated sigh and fishes the talking device out of his pocket.

It’s a text message, not from Henry or from Snow, but from Emma.

_Hey, Henry called and asked if I knew where you were, and then he just hung up. Is everything okay?_

He chews on his lip. So Emma knows that her son and her mother are out looking for him. But does she know why? Does she know what he overheard Henry and Snow talking about—does she realize that _he_ knows about…?

He shakes his head, his thoughts grinding to a halt when the reason for his distress comes back up again.

_Seven Hells,_ he thinks for the millionth time in the last ten minutes, _she’s pregnant._

He hopes Emma doesn’t know why Henry and Snow are looking for him. He hopes that the two of them have had the common sense to keep his reaction to themselves. What would Emma think if she knew that he had just turned around and _run away_ after finding out about… about…?

He groans out loud, rubbing at his eyes.

“I see you’re taking the news well.”

He jolts for half a second, and then twists around to look behind him.

Henry stands with his hands in his pockets, giving him a tight-lipped smile with his eyebrows raised. He’s a tad out of breath, even though he’s doing his best to hide it, and the cold wind has reddened his ears and the apples of his cheeks.

Killian chooses to ignore the jibe, turning away from Henry and going back to looking out at the sea.

“Your mother will kill you if she sees you out here without a coat,” he says.

“Yeah, and she’ll kill _you_ if she finds out _why_ I’m out here without a coat.”

Killian shoots the boy a glare out of the corner of his eye, just in time to see Henry circle around the bench and plop down to his right, but the venom in his glare fades quickly enough. He sighs in mild annoyance and shrugs out of his leather jacket, and he throws it over Henry’s shoulders before the boy can argue.

Of course, Henry still tries.

“Hey, I don’t need—” he begins to protest, already pushing the jacket away, but Killian’s hand clamps gently but firmly down on Henry’s shoulder, pinning the jacket down.

One stern look and a raised eyebrow is all it takes to get across to Henry that this argument is not going to happen—because it’s Killian’s fault that Henry is out here in the first place and he’ll be damned if the boy doesn’t at least stay _warm_ —and it isn’t until Henry rolls his eyes and says, “ _Fine_ ,” that Killian releases his hold.

They sit there in silence for a minute or so after that, Henry tugging Killian’s jacket tighter around him and watching his breath fog in the evening air, and Killian gazing down at his lap, nervously unscrewing his hook and screwing it back in to give his hand something to do.

It takes him a long while to drum up the will to ask, “So she _doesn’t_ know, then?”

Henry raises an eyebrow at him, but Killian is still staring resolutely down at his hook.

“What, that you eavesdropped on me and my grandma, found out that you’re gonna have a kid, and then ran away and ignored all my calls? No,” Henry says, and Killian can see the smirk on the boy’s face out of the corner of his eye. He bites his tongue decides not to argue the fact that he was _not_ eavesdropping, and that Henry and his grandmother needed to learn to control the level of their voices when out somewhere as public as Granny’s.

In all honestly Killian’s a bit too relieved to complain.

Henry continues, “I called her since I thought you might have run off to go talk to _her_ , but once I found out you didn’t, I hung up. No use trying to lie to her about why I was out looking for you.”

Killian gives a half smile and a low chuckle that’s more of a huff than anything, nodding in agreement.

But then something else occurs to him, and his brow furrows as he looks at Henry. “Hang on—how _did_ you find me?”

Henry snorts in a way that is just _exactly_ like his mother, and with a roll of his eyes he says, “Look, if you didn’t want to be found, you should’ve hid somewhere a little less obvious.”

“It’s not _that_ obvious!”

The smirk on Henry’s face only grows, but he eventually shakes his head.

And then, in a way that only a child like Henry can do, he completely changes the subject without batting an eye and asks, “Did I ever tell you about my castle?”

Killian blinks. He shakes his head.

“Your… castle,” he repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. My castle. Not a _real_ castle—it was like… this little wooden playground thing,” he says, gesturing vaguely with his hands in the shape of a rectangle, “made to look like a castle, and it was kind of falling apart, and I got like a million splinters from it. But it was _my_ spot, you know? It was the only place I could go when I wanted to get away from my mom—er, my _other_ mom, you know, when she was still the Evil Queen.”

Killian frowns and shakes his head, staring at Henry in confusion. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Because it was destroyed,” Henry tells him with a sad smile. “It’s been like, a whole _year_ since then. But even now, I still go to that spot every once in a while, when I need to get away or to be alone.”

Henry looks at him expectantly, but when Killian only continues to give him a look of confusion, the boy sighs.

“ _That’s_ how I knew I’d find you here,” Henry says, and he finally looks away from Killian to stare ahead and a little bit to their right.

His gaze lingers on the pier that no more than a year ago had been graced with the presence of the Jolly Roger.

It takes a few seconds for Henry’s meaning to click, and when it does, Killian can’t help it. He smirks down at Henry with a raised eyebrow and tells him, “You are far too perceptive for a child your age, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Henry answers with a noncommittal shrug of one shoulder, “I try.”

Again they fall into silence, and Killian leans back against the bench, staring out at the ocean. The Jolly Roger hadn't even crossed his mind when he had followed a winding path to end up at what he had presumed to be a random destination—but perhaps Henry was right. Perhaps he had needed the sound of the sea lapping up against the docks to clear his head, and he just hadn't realized it.

The wind cuts through his shirt, but he manages to suppress the shiver that threatens to run down his spine. No need to make Henry even _less_ likely to keep the jacket on—and besides, Killian has dealt with far worse than a mild winter evening in Storybrooke.

This time, it’s Henry that breaks the silence.

“You’re gonna be a good dad, you know.”

Something in Killian’s chest deflates. It doesn’t look like he will be able to avoid the subject after all, and he sends Henry a look that is stuck halfway between sadness and skepticism. The boy is _far_ too perceptive, but unfortunately he is still just a boy, and he is still every bit as hopeful and naïve as any other boy his age.

He frowns. “You can’t possibly know that.”

“Yeah, I can,” Henry insists. “You helped raise my dad, didn’t you?”

Although Henry means well, the thought of Baelfire sends a sharp pain through his heart, and he gulps down the lump in his throat, once again avoiding eye contact. “For… a short time, yes,” he admits, fiddling with his hook, twisting it off and then back on again, off and on. He takes a slow breath and explains, “I _tried_ to help raise him. I did everything I could, but”—he shakes his head in dismay at the thought of it—“in the end it wasn’t enough.”

_And I’m the reason he’s dead_ , he thought to himself, but he didn’t dare voice that aloud, along with the details of Baelfire’s leaving all those years ago in Neverland. There is no need to burden Henry with that knowledge, but still it brings a scowl to Killian’s face. _If I had just made him stay at the hospital that day, if I hadn’t let him run off in search of his father…_

He shakes his head again, forcing himself to stop dwelling on it.

“The time I spent looking after your father, Henry…” he trails off. “It’s not an example of my parenting skills. If anything, it’s an example of my ineptitude. I failed. And if—if my _second_ go at being a father-figure ends the same way…?”

The thought of a young girl comes to his mind unbidden, a young girl with vaguely defined features but for a pair of bright blue eyes exactly like Emma’s, glaring hatefully at him and running away from him forever.

… Or worse, _not_ running away from him, because with his history, anyone he cares about is bound to get hurt one way or the other. Even now, after over a year, he sometimes finds himself marveling over how he ever managed to hold on to Emma for so long.

He lost Liam, and he survived. He lost Milah, and he survived.

But to lose a _child?_

He gulps.

_I don’t think I could bear it._

“It won’t,” Henry says, derailing Killian’s morbid train of thought.

He blinks in surprise, his brow furrowing as he finally turns to face Henry, staring at him incredulously.

“How can you say that?” he asks, just a hint of anger making it into his voice. “How can you _possibly_ say that with such conviction?”

Henry gives him a look he’s all too familiar with—the same look the boy gives him every time Killian gets overly frustrated with twenty-first century novelties, the ‘seriously-how-have-you-not-figured-this-out-yet’ look.

“Because this baby isn’t gonna _be_ your second try at being a father-figure, genius,” Henry insists, rolling his eyes.

Killian's brow furrows. "What—?"

Henry breaks eye contact and chooses instead to look straight ahead as he elaborates, “ _I_ was.”

For the breadth of a second Killian thinks he must have heard wrong.

And even when he gets the chance to process what Henry just said, he still finds himself unable to speak. Instead he stares at the boy with his jaw hanging open, slowly shaking his head as if to deny it.

“I—I never…” he tries, but the words won’t come together.

And in any case, he doesn’t know what he wants to say. What _can_ he say? That he never _tried_ to be Henry’s father? That it would have felt far too much like a dishonor to Baelfire’s memory to try and take his place in such a way? That all he ever _really_ tried to do in regards to Henry, from the very beginning, was to do whatever was best for him?

Yes, Killian’s protected him, and made sacrifices for him, and tried to be there for him on those rare occasions when neither of his mothers could be, but…

But it wasn’t out of some insane notion that he could step in as Henry’s _father_. Being there for Henry had nothing to _do_ with himself. He just did it because… well, because he _wanted_ to be there for Henry, to do whatever was best for him and make sure that he was alright.

But even as these thoughts go through his mind, it occurs to him what Henry would have to say if he voiced any of those concerns aloud.

_... Isn’t that exactly what parents do?_

He gulps again—this damned knot in his throat is getting more and more persistent—and glances down at his jacket draped over Henry’s shoulders, then at Henry himself. The boy is still avoiding looking at him, instead looking straight ahead at the ocean.

Killian has always prided himself in having a way with words, in always being able to articulate exactly what he’s thinking or what he wants everyone to _believe_ he’s thinking, but he finds that he just cannot trust his voice at the moment. So instead, he puts his arm around Henry’s shoulders and pulls the boy tightly against his side in a one-armed hug, trying his best to put everything he’s feeling into the gesture as he drops his chin down on top of Henry’s head.

They stay that way for a second or two, in which Killian takes a slow breath to get his voice back into working order, and then he lets go of Henry and slowly stands up, clearing his throat.

“Come now,” he says, nodding toward the road. “Let’s get you back to Granny’s, shall we?”

Henry smiles and stands up, finally threading his arms through the sleeves of Killian's jacket—which isn't _quite_ as comically large on him as Killian might have expected—and he says, "My hot cocoa's probably cold by now, you know."

"If I didn't know better," Killian anwers as he makes his way back up the road and Henry falls into step alongside him, "I'd say you were trying to get me to buy you your... _third_ hot chocolate of the day?"

"... Is it working?"

Killian laughs. "Just don't mention it to your mother."


End file.
